


Aided and Abetted

by ProfessorGoggles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Amazon, F/F, Gyaru, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Self-Loathing, Weight Gain, binge eating, polyamory wg dyanmics, wootiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorGoggles/pseuds/ProfessorGoggles
Summary: An oldish experiment with WG/Feederism dynamics inside a polycule (originally posted on DA, 2017). Set in the universe ofwoot_art, and inspired by his short story, Beached.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. The Move

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Beached](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/613840) by w-oo-t. 



Sara grunted under the weight of her burden, pausing just to make sure she stayed upright. She felt a dizzy spell coming on, but she was pretty sure this box had some of her own CDs in it, and there was no way in hell she was dropping it.

“Hey guys, how much do you tip a U-Pull driver?” she heard someone yell behind her. She turned to see Em, sandals, skirt and designer top, her classic Cali style, standing next to a U-Pull employee who looked very much like they wanted to be somewhere else. One glance at her lack of practical clothing told Sara that Emmalyn would almost certainly be sitting out the unpacking stage of things, but that wasn’t really surprising given what she was like. She was bankrolling the day so it was kind of hard to argue with, anyway. She opened her mouth to reply, but all she managed was a wheeze. Suddenly, Sara felt the load she was carrying slip out of her hands.

Reaching forward frantically to catch it, her sweaty palms ran up against two iron pillars. They were attached directly to a very muscular woman. The woman smiled, feeling Sara’s hands on her bodybuilder’s thighs through her jeans as Sara craned her neck to look Tayla in the eye. “Can I help you with that?” she asked, winking, as she placed the box, which in truth she had taken off Sara’s hands, on top of the dresser she had already been carrying in.

“It’s no, hufff, trouble,” Sara replied, her breathing still laboured.

“Well, if it’s no trouble for you, it’ll be even less for me! I’d hate for you to strain something, Serr. Especially since you’re so close to finishing already! I was hoping I would be around in time to help.”

“Hey Tayla,” Rosanne interrupted, mischeviously. “I’m pretty much as fat as Sara is. How come I’m not getting any help with my stuff?”

As fat as me? Sara thought, baffled and honestly a bit affronted. Rosanne was definitely, in her own words, fat, though Sara preferred to describe her as chunky. Because if Rose was, in fact, fat, she didn’t want to think about what that made her. The girl was padded, soft, like she had put the weight there herself to round out all her edges and just leave cuteness, plus a little bit extra for the belly so you could believe she was human and not a literal work of art. But there was nothing sculpted about how Sara was built. She was more prone to evoking a vague sense of roundness and boredom, or at best perhaps a soft-serve ice cream.

Tayla affably took the offending package off of Rose’s hands and added it to the pile. Then she picked up the dresser from the bottom, holding it as if it weighed absolutely nothing. Sara lost a moment staring at the magnificent, flexing muscles of Tayla’s lower back, before realizing with distress that there was nothing left to carry in, and she’d look like a lazy slob tricking poor innocent Tayla into doing all the work. Though Rosanne didn’t seem overly self-conscious to be in the same situation, skipping carelessly along behind the bodybuilder with a smug expression on her face, so Sara steadied her anxieties and fell along behind them until they got to the doorway.

There, a brief log jam occurred, consisting solely of Tayla’s carry-ons. There were simply too many. Rose helped her put some of them aside for a moment.

Two more people caught up with the party. “I just gave him a hundred,” Emmalyn said. She seemed very slightly put out. Beside her was Sif, slight and stealthy as ever, wearing an oversize canvas jacket and, judging by the book bag, fresh from the local college campus.

“Anything I can do?” they asked.

“Well,” Sara said, “We’ve got everything inside, but it’s kinda just in a pile, so the day’s only half over unless we want to sleep on the floor.” The jam at the door had cleared, but before she walked inside, she stopped. “You know, we’ve all seen the inside before but now that everyone’s here at once, it’s different, isn’t it? Feels like we’ve finally, I dunno, arrived? Sif, Tayla, welcome to the new place!”

-

“Hey, speaking of helping, what took you so long Tayla?” Em asked. The afternoon light bathing through the previous tenants’ delicate curtains made her skin look just a shade even further into orange than it usually did, as her face twisted in a pout. “You were supposed to be our muscle!”

Sif was the one who responded. “Just because she’s strong doesn’t mean she has to lift your stuff from you! And I don’t have to ask Sara or Rose to know you haven’t lifted a finger yet today.”

“And what have you done, hon? So just step the fuck off.” Emmalyn didn’t even bother to look at Sif as she retorted. The two of them made a striking contrast, the moon and the sun. They were about the same height, give or take, but Sif was still in their characteristic slouch, even with their hackles up, and Em never really got down from her elevating footwear, emotionally or physically. Every day, she did her face up with some new evocative combination of cosmetics, and when she was working on top of a spray tan her choice of colours would usually be adventurous. Less so with her hair, which always stayed bleach blonde. With Em, Sara felt that ever present question of “aren’t they out of my league” slip into irrelevance. Her fashion was not so much statement as command, and what the command was always seemed obvious in the moment. Her clothes embraced her body, especially at the hips and ESPECIALLY around the pair of massive implants she called a chest. Shirts would become so stretched out and sheer in the front that Em’s bras might have been worn on top, so little was left to the imagination. Not that Sara minded, she wasn’t very creative.

Not that any of that lessened her ability to admire Sif when she could. They were notoriously self-conscious, covering up their slight, equally beyond-average form in baggy clothing whenever permitted to. Their face and black hair was just as delicate, yet unkempt, almost wild for the concerted effort them made not to invest in styling or makeup. They reminded her of those old fairie stories, of ethereal creatures that would fascinate humans beyond the point of eating or drinking without meaning to. Even given how well they knew each other, just being around Sif still carried a sense of mystery and adventure.

“Guys…” she said, dismayed. The feuding pair froze, looked at her.

“No, it’s okay,” Tayla interjected. “I wanted to make it up anyway. I guess the buses around here are still a bit confusing for me…” She picked up the dresser again. “I’ll just put this,” she looked around. “Where am I putting this?

“Ah right, rooms. We still need to pick our rooms.”

“Everyone remembers I dibbed the top bedroom, right?” Em pointed out.

“What, does it get its own bathroom or something?” Roseanne asked.

“Trust me, you don’t want to share a bathroom with her makeup anyway,” Sara said.

“Yes, but,” Em replied, “I’m in it for the view, and it has this great natural lighting in the morning for my selfies, my followers will love it.”

“These wood floors they’ve got everywhere don’t look great,” Tayla said pensively. “I think my weights are going to have to go in the basement, or the boards will get dented to heck.”

“Jeez, I hope I don’t wreck the place,” Sara said, looking at her stomach.

“Heh, worst case scenario, we buy you snowshoes,” Rose chuckled.

“Huh?”

“Weight over contact area,” Sif explained. “Although in this case it has more to do with rigidity. You’ll be fine because you have feet and Tayla’s weights don’t.”

“Anyway, that leaves the two bedrooms on the main floor,” Rose continued. “One of them has a walk-in closet, so I’ll be taking that one. Which I guess leaves the final room for Sara?”

“That’s the one with the old-people flowery wallpaper, right?”

“Yeah. Silver lining, it is nearest the kitchen, so that’s something, right?”

“Hey, what about Sif? Where are they going to go?” Tayla asked, concerned.

“Uh, did we not…” Sara was surprised.

“I’m, um, not moving in. I’d love to, but…”

“This was such a good deal for four bedrooms, and two of us could share a room but then we’d have to decide which two, and like I know we don’t all want to be in the same room,” Sara babbled.

“And like, tuition is a lot, and I don’t have much time to work, so since I have family in Northpoint who are willing to put me up for free, I shouldn’t really be renting. But I promise to visit all the time!” Sif looked at their feet. “And I was kind of hoping I could crash on the couch once in a while.”

Nobody, not even Em, looked spectacularly upset by the idea. Sara put a heavy hand on Sif’s shoulder, trying not to crush the tender flower too much. “Sif, as long as you want to be here, I would sleep on the floor to make that happen. I mean heck,” she said. “If I get to see all the people I love just one more time than I would’ve without this house, it’ll have been worth it.”


	2. Emmalyn

“Are you sure this is the place, Em?” Sara asked, giving the unimpressive club frontage a once over. “It looks kind of… risky.”

“Sara, you live in -Canada-, why do you ever worry about anything? It’s like a hundred times safer than California or whatever. And besides, check out the bouncer.”

“You’re like those people who walk around in thunderstorms because ‘hey, it’s a one in a million chance, right?’ Well it’s not. That’s the chance for PEOPLE WHO WORRY THEY’LL GET HIT.” She walked to the back of the line that was already forming down the sidewalk outside the club.

“Whoa, what are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? We’re going straight to the front.”

“Ten bucks says whatever little speech you’ve been rehearsing gets us booted.”

“Wow, you really weren’t listening. I’m not taking that bet, but only because I know you didn’t bring ten bucks. Expecting me to pay for everything, right?”

Sara’s face grew hot. “Well, I, um”

Emmalyn laughed. “Relax! I know the score. Just stay close to me and I’ll keep buying out the bar.” She pushed her way unnecessarily through the slight bulge at the front of the line, the cries and objections of linegoers falling on deaf ears. Desperately avoiding physical contact with strangers, Sara awkwardly worked a wider berth around them.

She looked for the door through the throng. “Sara!” she heard someone call her name. It was Tayla, standing in front of the entrance. Her massive frame towered over the crowd, and as she shooed them back to make space, they listened immediately, making space for Sara to walk up to her and Em unmolested.

“Wait, you’re the bouncer?”

Em shook her head. “How did you miss her in the first place?”

“Yeah,” Tayla replied. “For a few days anyway. Their last guy ran into… trouble outside of work, but he’ll be back eventually.”

“That’s why I picked this club.” Emmalyn tapped her temple with a finger. “Always thinking, I am.”

“So you two can go right in, of course.” A protest from the crowd at that, but faint. Sara picked out a few biting pejoratives regardless, but none of them were going to cause a fuss with Tayla there. She leaned over to whisper in Sara’s ear, “Great seein you, hon,” as she put her hand on the hefty woman’s butt and gave her a push doorward. “And remember, I’ll be watching,” she said out loud, to the pair’s retreating backs.

And so they entered into a world of din and pulsing lights. Sara was relieved when her partner immediately veered away from the dance floor.

“And the second-best thing about it is supposed to be the food,” Em said. She could indeed smell the wafting of a proper kitchen from behind the bar. Em sat down, and gestured to the stool to her right. “I thiiiiiink this one will have good enough lighting.” After looking at the menu for a bit, she snapped a finger at the barkeep. “Fullsize wedges with aoli and a cosmo, please. You don’t want anything to drink, do you dear?” she asked, turning to Sara.

“Only if you want something to eat,” she replied. That was a joke, to them. Two half-jokes, really, the first being that Sara almost never drank, and the second was that Emmalyn got way too stressed about her diet to order something at a place like this.

Which, Sara had learned early on, was very inconvenient for someone running a food photography blog. She had pointed out that she could just order the meal and then throw it out, but despite being inconceivably loaded, Em wouldn’t hear of just straight out wasting food, ever. So, they had a mutual arrangement; the valley girl got her perfect shot, and then Sara got to eat above her means pretty much every time they went out. When the dish arrived, she knew what to do. Despite the mouthwatering aroma of fried potato, she leaned back in her seat and let the master work. “That’s a huge plate,” she said. “Hope I can finish it.”

“You better,” Em said, sipping the cocktail in her left hand while choosing filters with her right. “Those are the rules, after all. Good news, though. You’re always saying I should eat more, and I’m willing to help with the entrée. Just a little, anyway.”

“Wait, how many dishes are you shooting today?”

Em put her phone away. Sara took that a signal to begin digging in. The aoli was a bit sharp, but the wedges were fluffy and perfect. She found herself wishing for ketchup. “I had four items in mind,” Em said, “but if we don’t quite manage it, I’m sure the fans would also be satiated by more shots of their favourite behind-the-scenes technician at work.” She winked.

Sara patted her stomach, stopped and swallowed. “They don’t want to see this, Em,” she said somberly. “You’re the one who likes to watch me go all garbage disposal.”

“Look, the likes don’t lie. Put you and food in the same picture and I’m doubling my viewership. They’re always asking how you’re doing and junk, too, like at this point I swear to god the audience is just as invested in you as the food. And can you blame them?! I mean, not gonna lie, I’m damn hot. But you’re something else, even for Northpoint! Like, you could go to Location City and stand out. You’re in a class all your own! A weight class, I mean. And that’s what people want, dinner and a show.”

“Not exactly the club for it. You come here often?” A dude’s voice, behind her. Sara glanced over her shoulder. He was good-looking, she supposed, not that it was an area of her expertise, and he was, of course, not talking to her.

“If I did, you wouldn’t be interested,” Em replied.

Sara usually stayed out of it when Em was on the hunt. She was used to it enough that she didn’t feel insecure. And besides, even if she was, in all the time she’d known Em, none of them had lasted as long as she had and most were gone within a month.

“Buuuut,” she continued, “you are, so why don’t you buy us a drink?”

“Just one? Be careful, she doesn’t look like the type that shares.”

All of a sudden the wedges didn’t feel so light in her throat. Her face felt hot. She scarfed down several at once to make herself look busy, like she wasn’t listening, like she was anywhere but here. All she did was choke a bit, painfully. A tear formed. It was just something an idiot said, why did it make her want to disappear? The tear slipped coldly down her appley cheek, over her adipose insulated chin, and then again over the second one, dropping past her chest to form a small dark stain on her shirt where it covered the rising hill of her stomach, quivering slightly with her breath.

“Us as in the royal we. I have my own micronation, obviously. So chop chop, and it better be princess-worthy.” Em seemed unconcerned. The two pretended to laugh at each other’s jokes for a while, though her girlfriend was as usual a witty and intelligent light in the room, which was her main comfort. Also helpful; the distracting discomfort of swallowing her meal, which she was still shoveling desperately into her mouth.

Until, inevitably it happened.

“Well, you ready to ditch the fatty and really get this night started?”

Sara winced. Emmalyn just stared at him.

“Are you serious?”

"Yeah babe, I mean fake? Real? I know some guys get hung up on it but-"

She cut him off. “No I mean is that really your ‘move’? Say shitty stuff about my girlfriend until suddenly I like you? Fat chance!”

The dude was taken aback. He put his hands up in a supplicating gesture. “Look, it’s great that you want to help the less fortunate or whatever. But I didn’t say anything we weren’t all already thinking! I knew it, you knew it, she knew it, so why lie about it? And you don’t have to give up everything for her. She’ll be fine for a few hours, so what do you say?”

“I say three strikes and you’re out. Leave.”

He was incredulous. “But, I bought you drinks! This is a public establishment!”

“Look, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll just tell the bouncer you’re causing a disturbance.”

"NO, YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE, YOU-"

A dark figure loomed behind him. “Is everything alright, miss?” Tayla asked. She was wearing an uncharacteristically stern expression. One by one, her muscles rippled.

“No, this piece of shit is threatening me,” Em replied tartly.

Tayla stared down at him. “Unless you want to be dragged out of here, I’d recommend you get going.”

His lip quivered a bit. “Fuck you,” the scumbag spat, without conviction, as he slinked away. Tayla following close behind him.

Once he was well and truly gone, Em turned to Sara. “Thanks for that,” she said simply.

“For what?” Sara asked, baffled.

“If I hadn’t brought you, it might have taken me a couple of days to know for sure how awful he was. They have to be okay with you eventually, might as well get it over with right away.”

“Wait, you mean you planned that??? Em, that was the shittiest time I’ve had IN MONTHS.”

Emmalyn was the picture of innocence. “Well imagine,” she said, holding a hand to her heart, “how much it would have hurt me if I’d only found out after I slept with him!”

“I can’t believe this,” Sara muttered.

Em began to consider she had maybe crossed a line, and dropped the act. “Okay, okay, for every time we do this, I’ll pay you fifty dollars.”

Sara crossed her arms, staring at her coldly.

“A hundred,” Em amended.

The heavier girl looked around pensively. “Deal,” she said.

They were quiet for a while after that, Emmalyn nursing her drink, and her her wedges.

-

“So what’s Location City?” she said eventually.

Em perked up immediately. “Oh, you don’t know? It’s this city that’s pretty much just wall to wall drop dead gorgeous chicks with all kinds of freakout unbelievable bodies? Sometimes you see one of those models on Instagram with a billion followers just for a bunch of neck-down shots and you just go, *SNAP* Location City. Nine times out of ten anyway. Must be something in the water. So I guess it’s like Northpoint but the U.S. version.” Emmalyn chuckled. “I was actually thinking about moving there first, but it wasn’t far enough from home…” She looked pensive for a second, considered sculling the drink in her hand.

“No regrets though. I was never going to bump into anyone more beautiful than you.”

“Beautiful?” Sara asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh come ONNNNN, Sara. I know that’s not the first time I’ve said it! But now that I think about it, you did have that kind of coo-coo land look you get sometimes last time I did. I guess you just kinda blocked it out? So let’s do this right.” Emmalyn spoke loudly and clearly. Her girly-girl affectation dropped away for a moment, like the peel off a Florida tangerine. “S a r a, y o u a r e t h e m o s t b e a u t I f u l g i r l I k n o w. And if you ever need to hear it again, just tell me. It’s always going to be true, and you totally know I’m never not right up front with my opinion, so you can take that reality check and cash it.”

Sara crossed her arms. “So when you stare at me while I’m eating all the time, is that because you’re captivated by my beauty, or is it just to get a good look at the ‘show’?”

Em grimaced. “I, guess it did kind of seem like I was saying that. But that’s not the show! We are! Because like I’m in the zone where I could get a bunch of followers using just my face, even if I wasn’t an artistic genius. I’m there on mount Everest in terms of unattainability. But then once people have been following me for a while, they find out I’m dating you. And you’re up on the moon, so far out of my league it’s not even funny, so they think, ‘hey, maybe if I stick around I’ll have a shot when they break up.’ I mean they probably don’t actually –think- it but it’s there on some level, which means there’s tension and audience interest and they get all invested. A show.” She paused, reluctantly. “Well, and it iiiis a good feeling just to watch you eat.”

“I’ve never gotten what you mean by that. Like what’s so great about it? We all eat a couple times pretty much every day.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that and I think it’s because it’s not that simple for everyone? I run a food blog, they follow a food blog, all of us like food. But we all have our own reasons why we’re looking at pictures of food instead of actually eating it. It’s fulfilling, knowing that someone got to enjoy it.”

“So you…” Sara puzzled, “experience it vicariously through me?”

Em smirked. “Depends. Does that thing you just said mean ‘think it’s hot as hell’?”

Sara swatted her on the back, forcing Em to swallow the last of her mixed drink. She looked around the bar.

“Well, I hate to say it, but this place was a bust. Got anywhere in mind that we can finish filling that tummy o’ yours?”

Sara smirked. “I might know a few places.”


	3. Tayla

It was days like this that Sara lived for. No work, no chores, no plans. She could just grab a snack and stretch out on the couch (or around the couch, really), feeling the cool air-conditioned indoor air on her skin where her shirt rode up over her stomach without worrying about fixing it, and let just whatever play on tv. It was amazing just how much there was to appreciate about a pretzel, if you took the time. And there wasn’t anyone else home, so she didn’t need to worry about hogging the entire couch.

Since the move, days like this had been hard to come by. It was always dusting, or unpacking, or moving furniture, or doing yard work…

Shit. She’d said she’d redo the wood chips today. That had been nice while it lasted, at least. Sara sat up laboriously. All the tension she had left behind in the last few minutes returned in seconds, as she pondered stumbling around in the hot sun, getting wood shavings all under her clothes. The neighbors would probably gawk, they were nosy fucks. God, she hated gardening.

She entered the front hallway and was bending over to put on her gardening boots when the door opened. Before she could turn around, she felt a resonating slap land on her rear. She rocked forward on her heels and gasped softly. It hadn’t really hurt, but whoever it was behind the slap possessed an almost ungodly amount of strength.

She turned around. Tayla cocked her head, her dark skin glistening with sweat. “Hey hon. Going somewhere?”

Sara smiled from ear to ear, leaned in eagerly for a hug. One thing she loved about Tayla; she never worried about hurting her. She rubbed her face against the front of Tayla’s sweatshirt. It smelled good, earthy with something sharp and wonderful that she couldn’t place. “Yeah bun, I’m just going to…”

Cedar. That was the smell. “Did you spread the woodchips?” she asked, a bit poutily.

“Yeah,” Tayla replied. She scratched the back of her head. “I figured if I was out there already, might as well.”

“So much for that then. I stood up for nothing.” Sara faked a sniffle dramatically, working her boots off carelessly, without using her hands. “Wanna chill?”

“Sure, just let me shower up.”

“Nah don’t bother you smell great. Kinda piney?” She grabbed her partner’s shoulder, and pretty much pulled her towards the couch.

-

Half an hour later, and Sara’s head was on Tayla’s lap, Tayla’s fingers plying the mysteries of her curly hair in a way that somehow made the couch seem like an even more magical place to be. Reluctantly, she sat up.

“Why do you always do it?”

“Do what?” Tayla asked.

“Oh, like pretty much all my housework whenever you get the chance? Like, when we moved in, and you’d barely let me get closer than ten feet to anything heavier than a bread box? You know I’m not immobile, right? I can do that shit myself.”

Tayla responded rather seriously. “I know that.” She grinned. “But I also know you hate chores. And besides, I like the workout.”

“That’s why you do my dishes? For the workout?”

“And,” she amended “I also like feeling useful.”

“I want to be useful too, sometimes.”

“You worry about people not thinking you’re doing enough. And that’s bullshit. Like, when I do stuff with my hands and then somebody smiles or whatever, I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be, and everything like, lines up in my head and junk. But all that crap about working making you a more valuable person, the stuff you get from your teacher and your boss and your third great aunt twice removed or whatever about needing a career, it’s garbage, all of it! And I know I’m not the brightest but I’m pretty darn sure what you’re dealing with is just a little bit of that that broke off.”

Sara looked at the tv, muted in front of her. She could feel her eyes getting a wet. Her inability to move to something full-time was a sore point with her, had been for months. “But aren’t I, like taking advantage of you in the relationship? How is it fair if I’m doing none of the work?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll live! I’m a big girl, same as you, and if that load ever starts to feel even a little bit heavy, I’ll share it, promise. But please, Sara, don’t do stuff around the house just for me unless it’s something you’d actually enjoy doing.”

Sara was dead quiet for a few minutes. They watched the talk show together.

Eventually she said “I don’t think I like doing things. Unless they’re things that you like doing too.”

Tayla glanced over at her. “Well, when you put it like that… there might be something we could do.”

“What?”

“I wanna check if I can bench you.”

“What?? Oh, like lift me? Is that safe?”

“Uh, if we’re being real about it, not totally. You down?”

“Heck yeah. So I just have to stand there, right?”

“I’ve been thinking about how to do this for a while and I’ve got nothing. I was just hoping we could improvise it when we get downstairs and maybe the positions will all figure themselves out???”

Sara laughed. “I mean,” she managed in between the snorts, “that has worked out pretty well before.” She remembered, with particular fondness, a logistical problem involving a sack of potatoes, a side of beef, and a hammock that had its best years behind it before either of them entered the picture.

-

Sara felt the metal bar on her butt. “Like this?” she asked.

“Uh, can’t really tell,” Tayla said, muffled. “Are your hands on the grippy bits? And make sure your legs are far apart. And maybe lean back a bit?”

She was balanced on the weight bar of Tayla’s bench, from her vantage she could only see the yellow drywall in front, but she knew that put her partner’s head, precariously, directly underneath her massive ass. She wobbled, and shuffled her legs apart. Most of the bar was under her now, and her balance felt a lot better. “Ready,” she said.

“Okay, uh, so I’m going to lift the bar, and hold at the top for a bit, and then lower it like close to my chest, and hold at the bottom, and if I can I’m gonna try to do that a couple times, and then I’m going to hang you back up. I think your legs are gonna get in the way a bit so it’s not totally gonna bet a legit lift but just let them dangle, and don’t move, and when I hang the bar back up don’t let me pinch your fingers. I think that’s it?”

“kay.”

She was weightless for a brief moment, and her stomach flopped as the bar left the rack. She sailed upwards a few inches and lurched to a stop, her knuckles clenched to keep herself from tipping over. “I can see my house from here,” she muttered. She felt the bar twitch as the weightlifter beneath her suppressed a snicker. Once she was steady again, Tayla lowered the bar again, more gently this time, until her feet brushed Tayla’s tank top and her girlfriend’s head just peeked out in front of her large stomach. She smiled. Tayla didn’t smile back, her brow knit with intense concentration. All too soon, her vision was eclipsed again as she rose, then fell. She thought about what Tayla must be seeing. Not much but her crotch probably. In fact, at the bottom of the rep, she was basically sitting on Tayla’s chest.

Sara became suddenly conscious of the intimacy of the situation. She wasn’t wearing underwear; could she feel Tayla’s hot, panting breaths of exhertion on her nethers or was she just imagining it? She swore it felt colder as Tayla pushed her up and away again, somehow still going strong into the third rep. But sinking back towards her made Sara feel like a steaming meteor streaking towards the warmth of earth. Just as she felt herself level out, mere centimeters from the other girl’s face yet again, she spoke up. “From up here, I could make you do just about anything, couldn’t I?”

“Don’t,” she whispered desperately, Sara’s seat nearly toppling as Tayla flinched, her sharp exhalation of breath definitely breezing tenderly on Sara as she began to gasp and wobble, just managing to keep her balance as she slowly, agonizingly, managed to rack her girlfriend back up.

Tayla heaved and coughed.

“Dude, I wasn’t actually going to hurt you.”

“I know.” Tayla coughed again, then shimmied herself a little further up the bench so she could see Sara’s face, but remained horizontal with Sara still perched, birdlike and composed, overtop of her. Tayla stared up at her, wincing in pain but smirking through it. “But man, Sara. You really had no clue what you were doing to me, huh?”

“I guess I didn’t think what might happen if I distracted you.”

“I just, you never really gave me a clue that you were into that kind of stuff.”

“What, so you get a few sexy feelings and those handsome muscles all turn to jello? Makes me glad I never put in that kind of work,” she tutted.

“See, that’s what you’re not getting.” Tayla raised her eyebrows emphatically. “I was trying to say ‘Don’t tease me’ but I didn’t even make it that far. That setup checked all my boxes, and I mean ALLLLLLL of them so like please please PLEASE just, just tell me whether or not you’d actually be down for it.

Sara was surprised for a moment, then her eyes narrowed mischeviously. “Wow, after that pathetic display? I wanna see my meat work up some real sweat. Sit ups. Two hundred. And I want to see you come ALL the way up.” Sara saw Tayla’s eyes dart to her lower half, still suspended above the bodybuilder, her legs spread wide.

“If you impress me…” Sara winked. “-Then- I might –maybe- consider doing something for you…”

-

Tayla had needed to stop eventually; Sara had worked her to the point of exhaustion. She stared up at the ceiling, huffing gently as she cooled off. “I did it,” she murmered.

“Yeah, I was definitely impressed,” her now-nude girlfriend giggled, the metal cool on the back of her thighs.

Her eyes focused. She looked Sara dead in her rich brown irises. “No like, before that. I can lift you!”

“And why’s that such a big deal?”

“First off, in my dream world you’d never have to lift a finger, I’d be your personal taxi. The way I was raised, if you’re gonna have a wife you’re gonna treat her right.” Sara’s stomach fluttered at the mention of the word ‘wife’. Tayla continued before she could say anything. “But aside from that it’s a really good moving goal post. If I can keep up with you, I think I’ll be able to get my body where I want it.”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘keep up with me?’”

The bodybuilder rolled her eyes. “Serr, you’re not planning on stopping yet, right? I mean I’d obvs be down to be your exercise buddy if you are… but you’re totally gonna keep gaining weight.”


	4. Roseanne

“Muffins!” Sara hollered, as she took the tray out of the oven. Emmalyn was there in a flash, taking pictures rapid-fire in boomerang mode before they were even on the table. Sif was also there, though as usual Sara couldn’t tell you when they’d come in. “So, how many of these are for you?” they asked, looking at the steaming confections.

“None,” Sara said. “I’m making a batch for myself as soon as I free up the muffin tray.” Baking and cooking were her two greatest passions, especially if you included what came after, but making herself try to balance enjoying her creations with watching others enjoy them would be impossible. She looked at her pastry creation, and sighed. “I might have to use skim milk, though. Been gaining a lot of weight lately.”

Rosanne picked that moment to pounce. “Gaining weight, you say? You know what that means!” The chubby girl was wearing a fuzzy thigh-length cream sweater and colourful leggings printed with a portion of Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ which made her look incredibly cuddly, but Sara still felt her gaze like the burning eye of the dark lord.

She backpedaled. “It’s no big deal really, I always put on a bit of weight in the fall, just a pound or two, that’s all.”

“I dunno, hunnybun, I’m pretty sure that shirt didn’t show off quite so much skin when we bought it.” Rose surged forward, her stomach inevitably pressing into Sara’s as her hands strained for the other girl’s waist. She had to smush her way aggressively inward against Sara’s hefty gut, but when they reached the other girl’s love handles, she instantly began kneading the stretch of soft dark flesh that could be seen where her shirt had ridden up. Sara gasped sharply, but she continued. “Why, if we don’t do something soon, you might have to go naked.”

Sara looked away. “I’m fine. I don’t need more clothes yet.”

Roseanne roved her hands up, raising the offending shirt partway up over her body as she explored more of her partner’s fat torso. “Yeah, I mean being naked is just a crime, not a sin. But you know how the challenge of dressing you gets me going. And besides, one could argue that leaving such a great canvas blank is kind of a moral wrong.”

Sara suddenly grabbed Rose’s hands. “I get it, but for real, could you be a bit less of a skeev about it??” she said sternly.

Rosanne stepped back, and Sara returned her hands. “Okay, that’s really fair,” Rosanne said. “But you blew me off after your last two growth spurts, and last time you specifically said you’d go ‘next time’, which if my math is correct, is this time.” She was all business now, her tone lecture-like. “Plus, how much of your closet actually fits you at this point???”

Sara looked down. “About… a sixth maybe? It’s the good sixth though.”

“A sixth,” Rose repeated, dumbfounded. “See, that’s why you don’t want to go shopping! It’s because you have nothing to wear!”

It was true, Sara thought. She always felt like she was embarrassing herself when she went out in public wearing just whatever fit her. But clothing shopping was the worst, most humiliating possible form of that.

“Which is exactly why,” Rose continued, “we have to do it. Also I really really REALLLLY wanna.”

Sara realized she had been clearly outmaneuvered, tricked into a date with her beautiful gumdrop of a girlfriend. “Fine,” she conceded.

“Then let’s go.”

“Wait, right now? But my mufiiiiiiins!” Sara wailed.

“Yes right now. You can make muffins any time, but the stores are closing soon. Heck, with your skills I bet you could make muffins in your sleep.” She looked at the other two girlfriends in the room. “Assuming you don’t mind me stealing her for a bit.”

Sif and Em nodded slightly, signaling their approval even as they nibbled carefully at their blistering-hot blueberry muffins.

“Traitors,” Sara whispered.

-

The mall was busy. Or Sara thought it was, she wasn’t actually here all that often. Malls unnerved her, and she usually avoided them. Too many people doing their thing, where their thing was a lifestyle and socioeconomic situation that had barely grazed her own before she’d started dating Rosanne (And Emmalyn, though she had her own, distinct beef with malls). All across the country, malls were failing, dragged into the inky depths of insolvency by the weight of their failing big box anchor stores, but both of the ones in Northpoint seemed to be doing just fine so far. It was, theoretically, only good for her that the local economy was strong, but she found herself wishing the place would shutter purely out of a vague sense of spite.

Rose crossed her arms. “Okay, so I know we went a little over budget last time, but there are a couple good thrift stores in here so we should be fine. How much have I got to work with?”

Sara handed her an envelope of cash. Rosanne opened it, raised her eyebrows. “Em’s been giving me money,” she explained.

“Tell her I’m grateful for the patronage,” the fashionista said. “I think this calls for something special.” She pointed at a nearby boutique. Neon pink sign, thin girls at the checkout, and thinner mannequins. Sara groaned.

-

“We’re not going to find anything here,” the heavier girl said. “This place isn’t for people like me.”

“True, on the second part.” Rosanne responded, idly running her fingers along a rack of improbably skinny skinny jeans. “You know, I’ve always thought the nice thing about thrift shops is that you’ve got a kind of guarantee that whatever you’re buying can be worn by a human being. But you never know until you look. And besides, sometimes you just gotta say ‘fuck whether this was made for me, I’m gonna get it anyway’. That’s kinda when dressing yourself becomes art; a lot of my best looks came from wearing something fat people weren’t supposed to, or wearing something in a way that it wasn’t intended to be worn.”

“I just feel like everyone gets all judgey-eyed when I go into a store like this.”

“Cutiepoo, I really don’t think they care. And if they do, it’s just because they’re jealous that we’re showing them up so badly even with every fashion designer on the planet in their corner. In fact, I’ll prove it.” For the second time that day, the pudgy little love of Sara’s life showed an unexpected burst of speed, seizing instantly on Sara’s lips with her own in a long wet kiss, even though she must have been on tip toes to reach. Sara reflexively leaned back, drawing her head out of Rose’s reach, but the other girl simply moved down to Sara’s double chin, teasing the warm, sensitive skin there instead. Rosanne leaned in with her whole body as well, bending to maximize the contact between the two as she ground against the other girl, who was backed against a shelf. Her one hand was hooked around Sara’s flank, desperately pawing for purchase on the bounce of her hip, but the other snuck between the two of them, under her belly. She could only feel what Roseanne was doing down there, firmly but quickly stroking her through her jean shorts. But what a feeling it was. Frantic, her hands scrambled to grab a pair of pants or anything on the shelf behind her, perhaps to somehow miraculously give the impression that she was legitimately shopping, rather than getting off in the middle of a crowded mall, but mostly just so that she’d feel a bit less powerless, despite ostensibly being physically in control of the situation, being the bigger girl in literally every way. They were against the left wall of the store. Most of the other customers were by the register, so the pair was hidden behind a rack of skinny jeans. It was a low rack, though, barely the height of Sara’s chest, and surely her face alone would give them away, even if they couldn’t hear the sounds she was making under her breath. But nobody seemed to notice. Some part of her brain screamed mortification but she still wished the moment would never end.

It felt like it lasted forever, but in truth it was probably about a minute before Rose fell back, letting Sara prop herself up from where she was leaning against the shelf. “Told ya,” she said.

“What was that supposed to be?” Sara asked. “Exposure therapy?”

“Nah. I just… know that I love these dates, and I know you really don’t, so I took it upon myself to make it square. And I mean I would have done it in the changing room but the stalls here definitely aren’t big enough.” Rosanne looked pensive. “Hmmm. Maybe we -should- have tried a different store…”

-

A mere three stops later, and they were done. However, one of those stops had comfortably sized stalls so it was also decidedly dusk by the time they walked in the front door. They weren’t heavily burdened with bags.

“I have your new sizes and a bunch of ideas, I can buy the rest without you when the seasonal sales start,” Rose had explained. But she did suggest Sara wear one of her purchases home. Sara was particularly fond of a stylish blue jacket, which was too small to quite do up but fit her shoulders nicely enough. Rosanne said it made her look chill. Rosanne had also found a few items too nice of a fit and too reasonably priced to pass up. She was very taken with a sparkly red dress, slinky on her with a low neckline. Sara thought it gave her a lot of presence.

Tayla seemed startled by the two of them, but recovered nicely. “Lookin real fine today, girls!”

“Do we really only look fine like this?” Rose asked, as she shamelessly pressed her breasts together with her shoulders, flipping her hair distractedly. “Cause I was so sure we looked sexy as hell.”

The bodybuilder’s eyes went wide, and she stammered a bit. “Yeah, super hot,” she managed as she practically fled the living room.

“You shouldn’t tease Tayla like that,” Sara said. “You know she has a thing for heavier girls.”

“Who’s teasing?” Rosanne replied.

“I just thought you preferred your partners big too.”

“And Tayla isn’t big? I mean not in the same way, but still. I’d totally be into that.” She paused. “As long as that’s okay?”

“I don’t really think it’s my place to say whether or not it is.”

“But-“

“But yeah, I get it. You don’t want to do anything that’s going to upset me, so you still want to ask. Believe me, I’ve been there before, and it was weird every time. You have my blessing.”

The chubby girl smiled, a bit sadly. “Thanks. Who knows if she’d even look twice at me though. I mean I talk a big talk, but when it comes to weight class you’ve got me absolutely licked.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ve seen her looking at you a fair bit lately.” Sara winked playfully. “I would have said something sooner, but I was kinda worried you’d be a bad influence on her. Your pervyness combined with her raw strength, who knows what could happen? Seriously though if that’s how you feel why not gain a bit more weight? Be your own excuse to shop for once.”

“I’ve tried! Well, not very hard, but still it doesn’t seem to matter what I do with myself, I don’t get any heavier than this. God, can you imagine though? I guess you don’t have to. Just growing and growing, it’d be so good for my fashion.”

“Bigger canvas, right?”

“Haha that’s the spirit. But seriously though, art is fueled by its limitations. Every time you go up a size, I have less to pick from out there, so it’s more of a challenge and therefore more fun. Plus it’s a different challenge every time, so I can’t just rest on my laurels. I have to keep growing and evolving.”

“Huh.”

“Can I help with the muffins?”


	5. Sif

“Thanks for doing this, Sif. I just didn’t have the energy to put up with the bus today.”

Sif didn’t look away from the road in front of them. They were a very responsible driver. They even sacrificed their terrible posture for the sake of proper seatbelt safety, actually sitting up straight for once. Sif was by far the least reckless whatever-counterculture-Sif-belonged-to that Sara knew. “God, yeah the buses in Northpoint are just the worst. Never on time, and they’re always full of creeps, when they’re not just actually full. I dunno how you guys stand them.”

“Well, we don’t really have a choice. You’re the only one that can drive.”

“What about the princess? She has a license.”

“Not for another year and a half, she doesn’t. The judge was very clear on that. And Rose and Tayla don’t have the money or the time.”

“What about you though?”

“You know I’m terrified of driving. Driving is terrifying.”

“Hey, I was scared at first too. It’s totally normal. Remember when I was still learning? God that must have been when we were like sixteen? Way before we started dating, but I dragged you along for moral support, and the moment the car started moving it was just the two of us screaming and going ten miles an hour on some country road? Everyone starts out scared. It gets easier, it just takes a while.”

“Bullshit. I remember me screaming, yeah. I don’t remember you screaming.”

“Well, I was definitely screaming on the inside.” Sif’s expression was rueful. Sara looked over at them, the way the muscles of their neck tightened a bit at the memory. Gradually, they relaxed again. “I know it sounded like I don’t want to keep doing this sort of thing, but I do. I just really think it’d be good for you to have the freedom.”

“I really don’t think I can. I mean, just cause we’re both huge fraidy cats doesn’t mean we’re the same. You’re always on top of your shit anyway, and I literally never am. I should never be piloting a metal speed cube.”

“Heh, maybe it’s for the best actually. How would I ever measure up to Tayla, or Rose, or Emmalyn if I wasn’t ‘the one with the car’?”

“Okay, what’s really bothering you?” Sara replied smoothly.

Sif was looking at the light in front of them. “Nothing,” they muttered. Sara calmly unbuttoned her knit wool cardigan, and untucked the hem of her shirt. Sif pretended not to notice.

“Really?” Sara said, disbelieving. She shimmied in her seat a little, her stomach wobbling. Her shirt rode up higher over the mound of her belly, showing more and more dark flesh.

The car lurched a bit, and zigged to the right of the lane. Sif’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, clearly affected by Sara’s own motions. They just murmered under their breath. Sara just rolled her eyes, and shrugged slightly. This time, she grabbed the waist of her tight pants, awkwardly pulling them down in spurts to show underwear, and then the thick doughy thighs that practically hid it when they squeezed together. The car rocked a bit with each tug, as more and more of those little cellulite crinkles that Sif was so hooked on came into view. Suddenly, the vehicle lurched again, for a final time, as Sif swerved into the side of the road, braking hard onto the gravel and pulling into a park. Sara rocked forward, her head mashing into her chest and her breasts into her stomach. Sif seemed unapologetic. They stared at Sara, somehow through sheer will keeping their eyes above her neck. “Nope. Can’t deal. This car’s not moving until you’re dressed again.”

“Well that’s unfortunate, because I’m not putting my clothes back on until you tell me what’s actually bothering you.”

Sif fidgeted with the wheel. Sara continued, placing a hand on her partner’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know, you mean it when you say they’re more likeable than you are. But I do that little dance too, remember? You don’t actually talk about it unless something else is bothering you, and you’re trying to pretend it’s just the thing that was already wrong that’s wrong.”

“Okay, aside from the usual suspects? The weather’s crappy, my raid got wiped last night, and… It’s dumb, but…”

“It’s not dumb, it’s a feeling,” Sara interjected, “But…”

“Okay so, I really like driving you around, cause I get to spend time with you and it makes me feel important. But now you’ve got a house! That’s like a real adult person thing to have. So I guess part of me’s afraid of losing this when you get a license too.”

Sara nodded, “Mhm, mhm, that makes sense.” She seemed dissatisfied though. “But why were you trying to encourage me to get one then?”

“Well I mean the bus fucking sucks. It feels like every week you or one of the others has a new story about how you totally got creeped on, or some rando was super rude, or a smelly guy wouldn’t get out of your space. I don’t want you to have to put up with that! That’s the real reason I’m always down to give you a lift.”

The fat girl giggled. “So it’s kind of like, you’re my knight in shining armour, always ready to whisk me away on your noble steed.”

Sif couldn’t help but smile. “Anywhere, any time, princess.”

They were smooth. She couldn’t just let a comment like that stand, Sara thought. “And is it one of your knightly duties to fatten the princess up by making sure she never walks anywhere?”

Sif’s sudden bout of composure was brief. Their porcelain skin blushed crimson. Their delicate thighs crossed and uncrossed nervously. “There’s actually, actually a video game with that exact premise,” the stammered.

“And of course you’ve played that. Can you be the princess?”

Sif shook their head.

“Well that’s just unrealistic,” Sara lectured. “Princesses take the lead all the time. What kind of world would it be if they didn’t?” She unbuckled, leaning over towards Sif. Sif was suddenly struck by the fact that Sara had never really covered back up. They gulped, but then they turned away, laughing despite their best efforts. “What?” Sara asked, trying not to look a bit offended.

“I’m just, sometimes, I think about how much things have changed. It still feels like we started dating yesterday, you know? Because we were friends for so long before that and now we’re doing this by the side of the road. God, what would past me think?”

Sara raised an eyebrow. “What –would- past you think?”

“They’d think… that I should say thank you. For making the first move. For letting all of this happen.”

Sara smiled, and it touched the very edges of her face. After a beat, she looked down at her chunky arm, still possessively grasping at her datemate’s arm rest. “I hope that sappy shit didn’t take you out of the mood,” she said.

“I’d love to, Sara, but don’t you have to be at a job interview in like ten minutes?”

She scowled. “Goddamn it Sif, why do you have to care about my life more than I do?”

Sif started the car. “Hey, us self esteem basket cases have to stick together.”

-

“So, did you get it?” Sif asked, as Sara reentered the car and sat on the passenger side.

“Nah,” Sara replied, her voice neutral. “Well, they didn’t say, technically, but you know how it is.”

They glowed at her. “Well I’m proud of you for going anyway.” Sif moved to put the car in drive, but Sara stopped them.

“Hold up, I just wanna change back into my casual clothes. This dress shirt hasn’t fit me for years, and we’ve been torturing each other for the last half hour already.”

“Sure thing, uh, I’ve got your clothes riiiiight…” Sif felt around behind their seat as Sara shrugged off her coat and unbuttoned her shirt. “Here,” they said, holding up the bundle of garments, tidily folded while she’d been out of the car. Sara leaned over to grab them, but suddenly the bundle was behind Sif’s back, and Sif’s lips were locked deeply with hers.

Sif pulled back. “Can you think of a way to get them back?” They asked. Sara just stared at them, frozen and starry eyed. “What’s wrong?” they asked.

“You planned a sex thing while I was in there, didn’t you?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yes! I love it! I was just surprised, I mean you’ve literally never made the first move before.”

Sif nodded, gesturing at the clothes that remained on Sara’s person. Sara tried to shrug her way the rest of the way out of the dress shirt, eventually working her way out of the snug cuffs without having to fiddle with the buttons. Next, she brought her knees the scant few inches up to her stomach, and shuffled her way out of her skirt, dropping it on the floor of the vehicle. While Sif watched, their face showing the intensity of an eagle, Sara felt along the fatty rolls of her back, finding the clasp on her plain white bra, tossing it aside and letting her prodigious brown breasts hang free, her nipples going bumpy in the slightly chilly air of the car. Finally, she slipped out of her shoes and seductively rolled the plus size nylons down off her legs, one at a time. She put her hands on her hips. “What now?” she asked her still-attentive partner.

“I’d have hoped you’d have used that time to come up with some sort of gameplan,” Sif said dryly.

Sara looked back at them, getting up and resting one hand on the dash as she leaned over and grabbed for the clothes. But Sif just adjusted position, bringing them out of her immediate grasp. And as she leaned, she felt her crotch run against Sif’s fingers, the weight of her motion grinding her into them as Sif simply refused to adjust position. She gasped, and flinched. Only Sif knew quite how rough she liked it sometimes.

“The guard seems to be far too alert for pickpocketing at the moment,” Sif said, amused, crossing their arms behind their back again.

Sara relented, quizzical for a second. She motioned for Sif to turn to face her. They acquiesced. Sara bent down, pulling on the legs of Sif’s worn jeans, eventually freeing their legs. Then she went for the hem of their hoodie, and simultaneously the simple tank top underneath it. Sif let them pull it over their head, moving the package from hand to hand to manage the sleeves. Her partner’s flat stomach and twiggy legs exposed, she leaned over, more slowly this time, settling onto them like a wave of molasses. They let out an oof, air pushed out of their lungs, and put an arm on the car door behind them to support themselves. Perfect, Sara thought. With the other arm holding the clothes, and Sara’s snatch pinned between the two of them, Sif’s options for aggression were very limited.

She still needed a distraction though. She shifted a bit, lining her crotch up with Sif’s, and feeling them move pleasingly under her as they realized the situation. She nuzzled Sif’s neck, Sif throwing their head back as the two twisted into each other.

-

After a good quarter hour, she made her move, casually adjusting her position as if she was just stretching, her hand reaching Sif’s shoulder, then their elbow, and finally grasping for the prize. Suddenly, ninja-like, Sif’s other hand was right at her stomach, tickling one of her folds just so. She twitched, reflexively jumping back off of her partner.

She looked forlornly at the clothes, suddenly realizing how cold her bulky expanse of flesh felt without the contact of warm skin. “That’s not fair.” she pouted. “I don’t even like tickling.”

Sif showed a genuinely guilty expression. Through her frown she said “Yeah, I definitely got too competitive there. Tunnel vision I guess. You earned them.” They tossed the casual clothes back to her, and softly clapped. She put them back on, sparing a moment for Sif to stare here and there. Sif picked up the white bra still on the passenger side floor. “Forgetting something?” they asked.

“Pass, I’m just gonna go braless. I’m a hundred and ten percent done with looking professional today. You’re so lucky you don’t need to mess around with bras.”

Sif looked down at their still nude chest, almost perfectly flat save for a pair of pinkish mosquito bites. They wrapped the undergarment around their torso, looking longingly at the massive spaces that the article left between them and the shiny fabric. “Maybe…” they said.

Sara looked over at her lover’s antics. “Honestly I’m fed up with that one in particular. You want it? I’d say ‘you earned it’”. She put air quotes around that last bit.

“Why? I hope you don’t think I’m pathetic enough to get off on my girlfriends underwear.”

“Well, I said absolutely nothing about any such weird shit and you just pulled that out of thin air, so I’m pretty sure I judged you exactly correctly, hon.”

Sif begrudgingly half-tucked the voluminous garment into a pocket as they pulled their jeans back on, and tried not to let the satisfaction show on their face. “So, home then?”

“Home.” Sara smiled.


	6. First Christmas

“Should we start without her?” she heard Roseanne ask from the dining room.

“Of course not,” Sif replied, scandalized. “She put so much work into today.”

“But she said she wanted us to eat,” Roseanne said.

“And she meant it. But that doesn’t mean we have to,” Emmalyn responded. “Even I know it’d be totally uncool,” she chuckled.

Sara hurried up, grabbing the final two pies from the oven. When she brought them out, she pretended to be surprised to see bare plates. “Guys, I told you to start already! This is just the dessert anyway. Don’t let everything go all cold!” She placed the pies on the last two hot plates set out for the Christmas dinner she’d spent the last two days preparing, and sat down in the empty seat. The spread before her impressed even her, and she’d made most of it. Turkey, roast beef with potatoes, stuffing of course, plenty of rolls, cranberry sauce and from scratch gravy, as well as a variety of alleged “salads” and an actual ceasar salad, plus a vegetarian alternative for Sif and a vegetable tray with homemade blue cheese ranch dressing for Em.

“I guess we’re all a bit intimidated. This is so much, Sara. Thank you,” Sif replied.

“It’s like something out of a movie!” Rose added. The others nodded, chiming in their own gratitude.

Sara felt her face go hot. Tears suddenly in the corner of her eyes, she stood back up.

“I’ve got something I want to say, too. The reason I made this meal is because it was the only way I could think of to show you guys how thankful I am for you. I really am, for all of you. The last few months have been so great. I didn’t think I’d ever feel at home somewhere like this. Some days I have to remind myself that I’m worthy of it, or that it’s even real! And it wouldn’t be the place that it is if it wasn’t for every single one of you.” She put one foot up on her chair, raising a glass.

“Tayla, you’re so strong. You make me feel safe just because I know you exist, and more than that you make me believe that one day I can routinely act like a real adult too.

Em, I know everyone accuses you of being fake but that’s bullshit you’re the most genuine person I know! I mean, when since I’ve known you have you not spoken your mind? Actually don’t answer that. Point is, you live your true self and that’s inspiring. I have a lot of shame, about a lot of things still, but not half as much since I met you.

Rose, you’re an artist. Everyone should know an artist. You remind us why life is worth living, no matter how down we feel. No matter how down you feel, too! Not everyone’s able to be that selfless.

And Sif, I know you’re counting yourself out of this one but just because you don’t live here doesn’t mean you’re not a part of all this. You know how much you mean to me, but you should know you mean a lot to everyone else here too. You’re so smart, and you never give up. I think of you every time I use the tv that you got working, or the fifty other little things you’ve bothered to fix around here that we didn’t even have the energy to admit were broken. Everyone loves seeing you, and I hope you always feel welcome here, because you are.

And I dunno how any of you do the things you do, but I couldn’t replace any single one of you or the little miracles you bring into our lives here, not if the world depended on it. So thank you. For just about literally everything.”

“Here here!” Em said, raising her wineglass for a toast, her sequined emerald tube top sparkling with the motion. The rest joined in, and clinks passed around the table. Sara sat down, but then Tayla to stand up.

“If we’re making big announcements,” she boomed, “then I’ve got something to say too. Rosanne and I started dating.”

Rosanne jumped up as well, the height difference between the two comically emphasized by the way her head didn’t nearly reach Tayla’s shoulders, even as her feet left the ground. “That’s right, babes! We’re an item! Toast up!” Another round of celebratory clinks encircled the table.

“Yeah yeah we’re all so very happy for you. So Sif, when are you gonna make your move, then?” Emmalyn asked devilishly.

Sif glanced at her, irate. “Not in a million years, princess.”

“Hey, your loss.”

“Would it be gross if we made out at the table?” Roseanne asked.

“I mean yeah kinda…” Em said confusedly.

But even as she spoke their lips were already locked in a rather sensual makeout. Sara chuckled into her napkin. The two of them together was going to be interesting. “Okay, dig in everyone. Seriously,” she commanded.

She grabbed a roll, and started buttering it, watching as Tayla and Rose reluctantly end their first non-furtive moment of intimacy. “Pass the roast, Taytay,” Rose said. For Tayla, of course, it was effortless to reach across the table and spear some on her fork. She brought the chunk of roast right up to the portly girl’s mouth, and Rose eagerly latched on to the large morsel, managing to fit all of it at obvious inconvenience, wrestling with it like an animal as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. God, those two, just what even, Sara thought.

The others pair was too busy bickering harmlessly to notice. She sighed happily, content that everything was as close to right as it could possibly be. Everyone was together, and there was food to be had. Moments like this were too good to be legal.


End file.
